Eyes
by MyShadowWalksBesideMe
Summary: And in that instant Snape hated Harry Potter for being all James and no Lily. Until he saw those eyes ... A series of one-shots on Snape's conflicted feelings towards the son of Lily Evans and James Potter. NOT HARRY/SNAPE ROMANCE IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM
1. Potions

Snape looked out across the icy Potions classroom and caught sight of a shaggy, untamable head of black hair.

Potter. Harry Potter.

He was wearing round, wire-rimmed spectacles and he was turned in his seat speaking to his desk-mate, a small girl with bushy brown hair.

Wild black hair. Round, wire-rimmed spectacles. Small, thin frame.

Another James Potter in the making, Snape thought dismally. And in that instant he hated Harry Potter, because Harry Potter was all James and no Lily. The living image of his father; his mother could have been anyone, and Snape somehow felt that this new student was somehow being disloyal to the memory of his mother by looking so unlike her.

"Harry Potter," he spat during the roll. The boy looked up, eyes wide with confusion at the unwarranted hate he read so clearly in the Potions Master's tone, and Snape steeled himself to meet the detested hazel eyes.

But there was no hazel to be found. Instead, Snape found himself staring into wide eyes that were an astonishing emerald green.

Lily's eyes. Lily's eyes in James' face.

In reality, Harry was watching his new professor with a mixture of confusion and fear, but what Snape saw in those eyes was a reproach.

Lily Evans was looking out at Snape reproachfully from beyond the grave and begging him to be good to her son.

Snape could do that. He could be good to the Potter boy. Not kind; there was too much James in him for that – _far_ too much – but good. He could be good to the boy.

For Lily's eyes, he could be good to the boy.


	2. Quidditch

**Okay, Missy (or Mister, I suppose niggysupporter is unisex), this is what you get for ordering me around in a review. I'm a sucker for reviews, and I admit it freely. If you'd only sent me a PM, which you actually can't do so that's out, then I might have been able to decline. But no, I'm a sucker for reviews. This was supposed to just be a one-shot**

Severus Snape sat tall in the teacher's box, proudly aware of the silver-and-green Slytherin scarf round his neck.

Students, and even teachers, always became unreasonably excited over Quidditch. Snape had as good a time laughing at them behind his hand as he did watching the match, but even he felt a little thrill of excitement whenever Slytherin played Gryffindor, especially the first match of the term. Somehow, he felt that the pounding Slytherin had given Gryffindor for the past six years almost repaid the taunts and the tricks he'd endured from Gryffindors in his school days.

A roar went out from the crowd as the players crossed to the center of the field. From his spot so high above the pitch, Snape could barely make out a tiny thatch of unruly black hair, small, even for a MacGonagal had apparently discovered in Potter some incredible talent for flying, and Dumbledore had agreed to bend the rules and let the boy play. This would probably blow Potter's head out of proportion, and he'd be puffed up about it for weeks. There was so much James in him, Snape thought with a scowl.

The game began, and Potter was circling high above the match, watching for the snitch, and then dove down and began darting about the pitch, snatching at the air in front of him every now and then. Snape tried to concentrate on the game, and not how vindicated he would feel if the son of James Potter fell from his broom right about – now.

Suddenly, the boy's broom stopped short and then began jerking from side to side; he was nearly bucked off, barely keeping his seat.

Snape knew he shouldn't be feeling so happy that Potter's boy was having so much trouble, but somehow he didn't quite feel bad enough to do anything about it.

As Harry jerked higher, he glanced wildly about, and for an instant so brief that he didn't recall it later his eyes met Snape's.

The sheer terror in Harry's wide green eyes jolted Snape out of his smug complacency. He almost seemed to hear Lily's voice this time, begging him.

_Sev, please! _He looked around wildly, wondering what he could do.

A soft muttering caught Snape's attention, and he realized that someone was hexing the broom, trying to kill _Lily's boy_. He quickly started to mutter a generic counter-curse, praying that it would be enough until some more permanent solution could be found.

As the broom tossed wildly, the Weasley twins flew up and tried to get to Harry, but it yanked away and even higher. The twins didn't give up, however, and settled for circling below Harry in case he fell.

Snape felt a flash of gratitude toward the obnoxious pair, and the next time they were goofing off in his class, he couldn't quite bring himself to take points away from them, merely settling for an icy glare before he continued teaching.

Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw someone dart across a row of seats and pitch Quirrel forward into the next row. Harry's broom abruptly stopped bucking, but Snape continued to mutter the counter-curse, just in case.

A flash of blue-white and a licking, painful heat began crawling up his leg and Snape jerked in his seat, looking down, but there was nothing there, only a fading blue tinge to the air around his leg.

He looked back up in time to see Potter cough the snitch out of his mouth and wave it in the air, grinning madly. Quirrel was climbing back over the bench, stuttering profuse apologies and almost crying with embarrassment.

Quirrel had tried to kill Lily's son, Snape realized with a flash of icy cold rage. That stuttering, mumbling little fool, with his ridiculous purple turban, had tried to curse Harry off his broom and make him fall to his death. But Snape wouldn't let that happen. He would go to Azkaban for murder if he had to, but nothing would hurt Lily's child –

But this wasn't just Lily's son.

The boy had so much James in him .... It almost sickened Snape, the fact that he was going to do _anything_ for a child of James's.

And yet ... as he made his way back to the school grounds, Harry walked by Snape with his two friends, the youngest Weasley boy and the bushy-haired Granger girl. The three of them eyed him accusingly, but all Snape saw was a pair of emerald green eyes.

No, he wouldn't be protecting James Potter's boy. He would be protecting _Lily's son_.

And those eyes made even Azkaban more than worth it.


	3. Promise

When Dumbledore called Snape into his office on a cold, dreary Friday afternoon, Snape was sure that he was about to be scolded for the use of interfering magic during the Quidditch match, and possibly accused of hexing the boy himself.

Good people, while their hearts were in the right place, could sometimes be a bit thick.

However, although the interview indeed began with a discussion of the match, accusations and scoldings were left quite out of the picture.

"Quite an interesting match, eh, Severus?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully, offering the greasy-haired professor a lemon drop.

"Indeed, sir," Snape agreed stiffy, ignoring the little bowl of yellow sweets the headmaster had set before him.

"Certainly an interesting catch that young Potter made, don't you think so? I never saw anyone catch a snitch in their mouth before. Wonder what it tastes like?" the elderly man mused, sucking on a lemon drop.

"I wouldn't know, sir," Snape muttered, feeling thoroughly out of his element. Whenever he was called in to speak with Dumbledore, even if it was just 'to have a chat,' as the other man put it, Snape couldn't help but feel that the headmaster was a sentence away from doling out his punishment. It must have been a left-over reflex from his school days.

"And that odd little incident with his broom," Dumbledore continued slowly, all cheerfulness forgotten. "Most disturbing, most disturbing." Snape steeled himself for the gentle question, the soft voice asking if he'd tried to kill the Potter boy, and promised himself that _he would not_ lose his temper and start throwing things at the mere _thought_ of hurting Lily's child.

"I believe," Dumbledore said, totally oblivious to Snape's inner agony, "that someone is trying to kill young Harry Potter." Even though he'd known it himself for some time, Snape felt the anger coursing through him at the thought.

"Do you really think so, sir?" he managed to choke out. Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"Yes, I do. Severus, I was wondering ..." Here it comes, Snape thought grimly. First the accusation, then the investigation, probably some false testimony on Quirrel's part and then Snape would be sent packing, never to see those eyes again. The thought nearly killed him.

"... look after him, could you?"

"What, sir?" Snape asked, realizing that he'd missed all but the tail end, and it didn's sound quite like an accusation after all.

"I wanted to know if you could look after young Potter for me. After all, I am headmaster and my position would call attention to me. But it is not so unusual, for a professor to walk about the halls with no particular purpose."

Was that it, then? He was being asked to babysit Potter's son? The thought sent a white-hot knife of hatred through Snape. All thoughts of his earlier promise to protect Lily's only child were forgotten, and the words _watch Potter's boy_ kept repeating themselves over and over in his head, as if trying to drive him mad.

"He is James Potter's son," Snape spat out bitterly. "I hated James Potter." He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't let Dumbledore foist James' child off on _him_ just because the boy had made some enemies. After all, he was only eleven. What serious trouble could the child get himself into?

"James saved your life," Dumbledore reminded the younger man gently. "Will you let an innocent child die for a childhood grudge?"

"You do not need me to watch the boy," Snape bit out. "You can ask Professor MacGonagall to do it, or perhaps Professor Slughorn. Even Binns could probably be persuaded to keep an eye on the boy."

"But I am not asking Minerva, or Horace, or Cuthbert. I am asking you," Dumbledore said.

"I won't do it," Snape insisted. "He's a _Potter._"

"That may be so," Dumbledore agreed, "but he has his mother's eyes, Severus."

An icy cold wave of remorse hit Snape as he realized what he'd been doing. He'd been arguing viciously, trying to get out of protecting _Lily's_ son. James Potter didn't matter at all. He'd _heard_ Lily ask for his help at the Quidditch match, and now here Dumbledore was offering him the perfect opportunity to protect Lily's son without arousing suspicion and he was throwing it in the man's face.

"Alright," he ground out, keeping his memory of Lily's eyes fixed in his mind and pushing all thoughts of James Potter out of his head. "Alright, sir. I'll do it."

**So there you have it. Perhaps Severus is going a weensy bit mad, hearing voices and all that, but we shall see.**


	4. Awakening

The stupid boy. To go after _the dark lord_ on his own. Even with that bushy-haired Granger girl and the youngest Weasley boy, it had been folly. And he had nearly died. Snape gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

Harry Potter had nearly died for his stupidity.

Even now, he was stretched out on a bed in the infirmary, senseless for three days now, still and pale and silent.

Madame Pomfrey said nothing, but Snape knew she was worried. He had never seen her look this grave before, even when Potter had burst into the infirmary carrying _him_, bleeding and shivering with terror, shouting something about Lupin.

"Harry."

Had he spoken? Snape wasn't sure. But somehow he felt as if it would be wise to say _something_ to the Potter child. No one had said anything in the infirmary for the past three days, not even Weasley. He tried again.

"Harry." It came out easier this time. Lily had chosen the name Harry, he remembered. That made it easier to swallow.

"Harry. Your mother ..." He choked, remembering the sight of a still form sprawled senseless on the cold stone floor, too like the vibrant redhaired woman who'd sacrificed her life to save him. Had she died for nothing?

Snape berated himself again. He had known that those three First Years were planning something, but he'd been _too busy_ preparing for the summer holiday to think about it. And now Lily's son might pay the price. As soon as he'd realized _what_ they must have been planning -- he'd run all the way up to the third floor, ignoring the growing pain in his leg, consumed by one horrifying thought -- _to be too late ..._

"Your mother would be proud of you." It was the truth. Lily _would_ be proud of Harry for standing up to Voldemort. Just as she would have been filled with loathing and shame to know that 'Sev' had once served him. Well, Snape's loyalty to the dark lord had ended with Lily's life, and for many years his only purpose had been to bide his time, hoping one day for the chance to avenge himself. But now he had a new purpose.

"I won't let her down," he promised. "I will make sure that you are safe here, Harry Potter. I will be sure of it." _Just don't die_, he wanted to add. He was alone in the infirmary; he could if he wished. But at this moment, with his eyes closed, Harry looked like a vision of the past, a sleeping James Potter. And Snape could not beg James Potter.

With his glasses folded on the night table, Snape saw how long Harry's eyelashes were. James'd had hardly any. Once, in a moment of brilliance, Snape had called him _'baldy-eye'_ and been on the recieving-end of a full-body bind as a result. But Lily had had long, curly eyelashes, and he'd loved to watch snowflakes catch in them during Christmas-break snowfights. It was one more reason not to hate Harry Potter.

"I wish you looked like your mother," he found himself saying. "I wish no one could tell by the looks of you that James Potter was your father, or any other relation. But if you only got one thing from her -- I'm glad you got her eyes." He ground his teeth for a moment before finishing.

"I want to see them again." Harry's long, pale fingers stretched on the counterpane, and he shifted in his sleep.

He was waking up.

Snape stood abruptly, the faint, vague connection broken. Harry would not love Snape for keeping a bedside vigil. He would be even more suspicious, especially since he already suspected Snape of trying to kill him at the Quidditch match _and_ trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, in competition with Quirrel. Did he believe that Snape was evil? Snape was surprised to find that the notion stung.

As he swept out of the infirmary, Snape was slightly embarrassed to see Albus Dumbledore waiting outside the infirmary.

"Sir," he muttered. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled kindly.

"Severus. I assume the boy is waking up, then," he said simply. Severus nodded and walked away. Dumbledore would tell the boy all he needed to know, and comfort him if need be. It was not _his_ place to be the confidant and friend. It was his place to be the silent, unthanked protector, just out of sight, ever-vigilant.

Snape figured he could do that.

**And that's it then! I might do another one for the second book, but at this point I'm not sure. There's ONLY ONE WAY to let me know if you want more.**


End file.
